Unsung Heroes
by candoreauthorship
Summary: The galaxy is locked in a brutal three way war. A Mandalorian bounty hunter, a rogue Jedi, a computer slicer and a Black Sun assassin are thrown into the galactic conflict and must fight to survive.
1. Chapter 1

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away . . .

It is a dangerous time for the galaxy. Rising from the Unknown Regions, the Varrcaran Regime has begun an aggressive conquest of the Outer Rim planets, battling the Republic to a standstill.

Amid the conflict, the evil Sith Lords have launched their own series of assaults against both sides, locking the galaxy in a brutal three-way war.

TOLA, a computer slicer hired by the Republic, searches the desert planet of Moaz for information that could aid the Republic in their desperate time of need . . .

Forty-seven seconds . . .

Tola looked at his chrono. Forty-seven more seconds . . .

According to the Jedi Council, every forty-seven seconds another Jedi was cut down. Since the start of the war, the Varrcaran Regime had developed an armor that nullified Force powers, crippling the Jedi Order's attempts to aid the Repulic. Rumors had circulated that the armor was being constructed in this system. Tola's mission was to find a weakness in the armor, or, if possible, find a way to cease manufacturing of it altogether.

But though he'd been hired by the Republic, Tola didn't answer to their regulations. He would get the job done however he saw fit.

Tola exhaled slowly, watching his breath dissipate into the frigid night air. The desert planet of Moaz proved to be unbearable at times—with days reaching dangerous heats and the nights far below freezing. It was a hard, unforgiving planet that produced durable and calloused people.

Although the climates of the other twenty-one planets within the Varrcaran Regime varied, the people always had one common feature—they were survivors. With an oppressive governing body regulating food and medical supplies, the people never thrived, but they were able to etch out an existence.

Tola sighed. That was all it was; an existence. To keep the masses in line and fund the war effort, the Regime had seized all blaster weapons, leaving the common citizens powerless to resist the tyranny.

It was different on his home planet; the world was lush and the people were fair. But he couldn't ever go back . . . not after what happened.

Tola forced the memory from his mind. That fateful night seven years ago was something he wished he could forget, and was the reason why he chose to travel alone. He decided to divert his attention back to the mission. He was behind enemy lines now—the smallest mistake would mean death, or worse . . .

Torture.

His first objective had already been completed—after slicing into the network, he had determined the origin point to somewhere in this village. It was more of a hamlet then a village. He hadn't bothered getting the name of this place when he rode in that morning. On this planet, towns seemed to come and go like the sand blowing across the desert.

Suddenly a deafening roar, like the sound of a ship taking off, enveloped him. Tola covered his ears and ran for shelter. A concussion missile shot into the ground like lightning a mere fifty meters from his position, shaking the ground. The shockwave from the blast was enough to send him flying.

It took a couple seconds for Tola to regain control of his senses. Rubbing the sand from his eyes, he looked up and followed the missile's contrail until it disappeared into the night sky.

_What's going on here? Was this an orbital strike?_

Tola saw that he'd been tossed near a boulder. It wouldn't be able to protect him from an orbital missile, but it might shield him from the shrapnel.

As quickly as he could manage in his current state, Tola crawled to the rock, huddling behind it just before another missile laid waste to the village. The ringing in his ears slowly cleared, replaced by screams of terror.

Tola's heart throttled as he peeked from his hiding spot. Two craters lay where the center of the village had once been. Villagers scattered in all directions like ants after their anthill had been destroyed.

Off in the distance, Tola saw the soft glow of two thrusters darting across the sky. A sickening feeling within the pit of his stomach formed as he strained his eyes to see.

_Landing Pods!_ Each ship could hold up to forty soldiers.

The pods flew low over the village and rocketed past Tola's position, blowing his hair and whipping sand into his face. They slowed and touched down at the top of a dune, not a hundred meters from Tola. The hatch doors lowered, and several ranks of soldiers marched out with the emblem of Varrcara branded across the armor on their chest.

_Why would the Varrcarans attack one of their own planets? Did they find out about my mission?_

None of this made any sense, but he didn't have the time to try and figure it out. The soldiers were marching directly toward him. He had to move now, or he may never get the chance to move again . . .


	2. Chapter 2

Terrik Ordo knelt at the edge of a ridge overlooking the village of Nabareth, surveying the scene from afar. The technology in his Mandalorian helmet augmented his vision and hearing well beyond normal means, but so far nothing of interest had drawn his attention.

The scanner in his visor transmitted data to and from the galactic bounty database, automatically identifying certain individuals caught in his gaze. Right now he was tracking a fugitive by the name of Dubion Milnoff, a man who had betrayed Republic secrets when he'd signed up with the Varrcaran Regime. Unfortunately, Dubion had hidden his tracks well thus far.

Terrik sighed. _Looks like I'll have to take a more direct approach._

Tapping one of the buttons on his computerized gauntlet, Terrik activated the jet pack built into his armor and flew to the bottom of the canyon. Without a word he marched into town. A few of the locals saw his approach and darted inside. Ignoring them, he continued his methodical search for the man he was after, eager to collect his bounty and be off this miserable planet.

_There!_

A man exiting the administration building raised a red flag in his visor, marking the target for him. Officially he was supposed to rattle off a prepared speech of the crimes Dubion had committed and blah, blah, blah, but Terrik never bothered—it only gave the fugitives a better chance to escape.

He raised the weapon in his hand and fired, shooting off a thick bola to ensnare his target. Dubion didn't even get the chance to react before he was face first in the dirt, tied up and ready to be taken back. Terrik had full authorization to kill this target, but the bounty was worth more alive.

A loud war cry pierced the otherwise silent night. Terrik turned to see a man with a vibrosword charging toward him at full speed.

_No bounties on this one,_ Terrik thought._ Probably just a friend of Dubion's._

Since the ruthless acquisition of blaster weapons and power packs, citizens of this sector had come to rely on melee weapons to defend themselves. Terrik, himself, had never wielded such a crude weapon, but he'd fought against them on multiple occasions, and this bumbling idiot clearly posed no threat. Telegraphing his movements, the antagonist brought his blade down in a heavy two-handed slash aimed for his chest.

Terrik crossed his arms in front of him like an X, catching the vibrosword in the curved blades lining his gauntlets. In one swift motion he yanked his arms apart, cleanly breaking the sword. A look of surprise crossed the man's face just as Terrik's fist smashed into his skull, knocking the man out cold.

He swept his gaze around the street. "Any other heroes?" he asked aloud.

No one moved to stop him.

_Good choice._

A second later his sensors detected incoming fire. Terrik wheeled around just as a concussion missile crashed down into the center of the village, detonating on impact. The blast hurled him backward, flinging him into the side of a building. His armor ablated the worst of the impact, but he still felt the air knocked from his lungs. He turned his gaze skyward to see drop pods hurtling toward the town.

_What are they after?_ he wondered. _This lowlife criminal isn't enough to warrant a capital ship in orbit, let alone a full platoon of soldiers._

And then Terrik saw him.

It was an alien: a massive scarlet-colored sentient of the Massassi species. The hulking brute picked himself up and caught Terrik's gaze. With a snarl he retrieved the lightwhip at his side and activated the yellow blade, filling the air with a vibrational hiss.

Terrik's visor recognized him immediately, attaching the name "Dextanik" to his profile, more commonly referred to as simply Dex. Worse, the database had on record that he wasn't just a Force user, he was what the media had come to call "Bionics". Bionics were the result of a Sith experiment to genetically enhance Force-Sensitives, an attempt at creating super soldiers. Of the two-hundred original test subjects, thirty-eight had survived the process, heightening their Force abilities. But those who survived were left with shattered minds, pushed past the brink of insanity. The Bionics had rebelled, destroying the Sith laboratory before fleeing in different directions, subsequently earning the highest price of any individuals wanted by the Sith _and_ the Varrcaran Regime. Since then, an estimated fifteen had been slain—two of them by Terrik's own hand.

The memories of his first encounter with a Force user sprang unbidden to his mind, and Terrik ground his teeth together. Pain spiked in his forehead, and he felt his anger rise. It was clear the Regime was after Dex, and Terrik knew they'd kill anyone they had to to accomplish that mission. The smart decision was to get clear.

But Terrik couldn't refuse the opportunity to put another Force user down permanently. He rose to his feet and retrieved the blaster assault rifle at his side. Terrik had no intention of using nonlethal tactics against this Bionic. It wasn't business anymore; it was personal.

Another concussion missile exploded behind Dex, but neither warrior seemed to notice. Amid the panicked citizens and destruction, their eyes were locked solely on each other.


	3. Chapter 3

Tola hurdled the boulder he had been hiding behind and sprinted through what was left of the town. Chaos engulfed the area. The buildings that were still standing were vacated and sand from the blasts coated the village like a thin golden blanket.

Tola joined the masses as they ran, all thoughts of his mission ebbing from his mind. Somehow the Regime had found him; all he could do now was survive.

There was no general flow in the attempted escape, causing many to be knocked down and some trampled. But all were moving—except for two beings on the edge of town.

One of them was an alien, holding a lightwhip, and the other was a bounty hunter, decked out in cutting edge technology. These two stared each other down, oblivious to the people escaping around them, like two great trees in the eye of a tornado, unmoving and proud.

Tola pushed past them and made it to the edge of town. Suddenly an intense air pressure knocked him to his hands and knees, followed by the roar of jet engines. Tola looked up and saw another landing pod fly by him, only a few feet from his head.

_You've got to be kidding me! How many troops did they send?!_

The pod landed at the top of a sand dune and several more soldiers marched out, creating a perimeter around the town, barring their escape. Tola and the other survivors had nowhere to go but back into town.

_I feel like a fish in a barrel . . ._

A blood curdling scream suddenly caught his attention. Looking down a small hill, he saw a young woman on the ground, backing up as quickly as she could from an advancing soldier.

Tola stopped in his tracks. He needed to escape, but there was no way he would let a defenseless woman be murdered. But Tola was the furthest thing from a warrior—it would be suicide for him to face the warrior head on. He had to think of something fast.

He whipped his head around, looking for anything that could help. An abandoned wagon sat dormant by one of the shops. Tola sprinted to it and aimed it at the soldier. Then he dug into his bag and pulled out a lighter he normally used for campfires.

The wagon lit easily in the dry desert air, and the flames spread quickly, devouring the synthwood like a starved creature. Tola ran to the back of the wagon, where the fire hadn't reached yet, and slammed his shoulder against the decayed wood.

_Here goes nothing._

The wagon groaned as the decrepit wheels turned. It picked up more and more speed, until it was racing down the hill. Tola prayed that the cart would get there in time. He watched in horror as the soldier raised his rifle, aiming it at the defenseless woman before him. Then his index finger slid off the handle and reached for the trigger.


	4. Chapter 4

Chains.

When Dex gazed at the Mandalorian warrior, that was all he saw—the return to imprisonment and slavery.

Fresh rage swelled within his body, willing him to fight. Dex took the lightwhip from his belt and activated it, the yellow blade crackling to life. In response, the armored figure retrieved a blaster assault rifle from his side, but not fast enough. Dex's latent Force abilities had been amplified by the torturous experiments, and he intended to unleash them fully, starting with a sound suppressing bubble around his enemy.

Rumors had spread that all survivors of the Bionic experiment were little more than raving lunatics, when in reality only about half had lost their grip on their sanity. Dex was still plenty lucid, and in the years since that fateful day he had learned to harness the Force powers his altered genes had given him.

Before the Mandalorian could bring his rifle up to bear, Dex launched himself into the air and let loose his second power: the ability to project hallucinations in the mind of a single target he could see. The armored warrior fired, spraying a volley of blaster bolts that still narrowly missed Dex in spite of his manipulated sight.

The hulking Massassi landed only a few meters from his human adversary and lashed out with his lightwhip. The armored figure tried to evade, but he misjudged the erratic trajectory of the weapon. The whip cracked against his exposed midsection, searing a black scorch mark across his crimson-and-white breastplate.

Dex smiled. Few knew how to defend against his weapon of choice.

Mandalorian armor was hightly valued for its ability to resist lightsabers, but Dex doubted it would protect from a second slash.

Moving in for the kill, Dex raised his whip against his battered opponent. To his surprise, the Mandalorian managed to roll to the side, evading the strike even as he raised his rifle once more. This time he fired from the secondary barrel underneath the main, shooting off a grenade.

Dex was too stunned to move out of the way. This man would rather kill them both than fall to a superior foe. But the hallucinations still afflicted his mind—the shot went wide, and Dex heard a thunderous explosion behind him. Instinctively he glanced back. The grenade had detonated in a group of six Varrcaran soldiers, killing them all instantly.

With Force-augmented speed, Dex reached out his free hand and ripped the projectile weapon from the warrior's grasp, disarming him.

Or so he thought.

Two retractable, serrated blades sprang from the figure's right wrist. In one quick swipe he carved two traces across the muscles of Dex's left bicep. The Massassi roared in fury as the rifle fell from his grasp. He lashed out with his lightwhip again, but never saw whether it hit or missed—a heavy blow struck him in the back of the head.

Dex toppled to the ground, and in that moment he realized he'd fallen victim to his own power; the sound bubble created around his adversary had nullified his own hearing when he'd gotten too close—allowing the Varrcarans to sneak behind him undetected.

The last words Dextanik heard were: "Lock this one up. We need him alive."

Then his world faded to black.


	5. Chapter 5

Loralona's heart throttled in her chest as the soldier aimed his rifle at her. She desperately scrambled away, but from her prone position, she wasn't able to move fast enough.

_If only I hadn't been given this assignment, I wouldn't be on this forsaken planet._

The faint shadow of the soldier's face was barely recognizable through the thick visor on his helmet. A merciless grin flashed across his scarred face. She realized that in his eyes she was not a woman, she was wild game, and he was a prize hunter. Despair turned to raw anger, welling up deep within her. She may be just another kill in his eyes, but she wouldn't go down easy. Defiantly she reached for the knife she kept hidden in her boot.

Without warning, a fiery wagon blasted into the soldier, causing his weapon to discharge harmlessly into the air, and pinning him against a building. The warrior was able to manage a short scream before his life passed.

Loralona sprang to her feet, knife in hand, and whirled around wildly, ready to defend herself. Instead of more danger, she saw only a lone man at the top of a hill with his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath. He wasn't a soldier, and he didn't appear to have any weapons. A wave of irony washed over her as she recognized his face. The dangerous man Black Sun had sent her to "recover" was the very man who had saved her. She started to wave, but stopped her hand halfway up.

_I can't think of him like that. No matter if he saved me or not._

Her "objective" stood up straight and managed a short nod and an awkward grin.

Then she saw them. Five soldiers crested the hill directly behind her defender. She opened her mouth to shout a warning but it was too late. All five shot the young man with stun weapons, forcing his body to writhe uncontrollably before collapsing on the ground.

Loralona knew it was too late. She wouldn't be able to achieve her mission objective, at least not yet. So she slinked past the burning carriage, and slipped into a narrow alleyway between two buildings.

Trusting in her stealth training, she kept to the shadows as the deadly ring of soldiers tightened their noose on the town. Once the enemy had passed, she stole one last glance from her dark spot of cover, and then darted into the cold desert night.

_Tola . . . We're not done yet._


	6. Chapter 6

Terrik woke with a pounding headache. The last thing he remembered was the butt of a rifle smashing into his skull.

Cautiously Terrik levered himself up on his elbows and took in his surroundings. The room was dark, but a red light cast from the perpendicular hallway illuminated his durasteel bars. Inside his cell was a toilet and nothing else. Looking down, he saw that he had been stripped of his armor and weapons. Terrik clenched his teeth. To a Mandalorian, nothing was more shameful.

Rising to his feet, Terrik walked over to the bars and stuck his head out. The flickering red bulb hovered over an airlock.

_So I'm in space,_ he thought. _Probably on one of the dreadnoughts that orbited the planet._

Though it had been an accident, he had killed several Varcarran soldiers, a crime for which he would be executed. Terrik knew the regime's policy well: there would be no second chances.

In a cell across the hall, Terrik spotted a hooded figure sitting with his legs crossed, drumming his fingers together. From the looks of things, he was planning an escape as well.

_Let's hope he's doing better than I am._

A metal door opened with a loud creak, and two prison guards walked into the hall, looking over their new captives.

One of the guards spoke to his partner so quietly Terrik had to strain to hear him.

"I heard we caught another Force user today."

The second guard nodded. "We made sure they're being held far away from each other. This one isn't half as bad as Jadus, but still, it makes me nervous having them on board."

"Why can't we just kill them now and be done with it? They're slated for execution, anyway."

"You know the Overlord. Wants to make an example out of them."

As they walked past his cell, Terrik noticed a keycard tucked into the first guard's belt, but he was too far away to reach it.

Both soldiers stopped in front of the hooded figure's cell.

"The commander will see you now," one of them said gruffly.

The other soldier opened the electronic locks with a swipe of his keycard. The hooded figure rose, and they placed a pair of handcuffs on his wrist.

"Move, convict," they said, shoving his back.

As they left, the hooded man gave a tiny nod to Terrik. Though they had never met before, he knew the implication: something was about to go down.


	7. Chapter 7

Tola watched quietly as the Varcarran soldiers dragged a motionless warrior into the room. The lighting was dim, but he was still able to recognize the armor; it belonged to the bounty hunter he saw battling in town. The soldiers stripped the unconscious man of his armor and threw him into the cell across the hall.

Things were looking grim, but sometimes a bad situation could be turned into an advantageous one. Computer files aboard the ship would almost certainly have the exact coordinates of the Varrcaran base he was searching for. A simple message to the Republic could get a fleet here within hours, and the facility would still be destroyed, and his mission a success.

Of course, he would have to find a way to get free first.

Tola considered talking to the guards, but there was no need. Earlier he had told the commander that he had valuable information involving the whereabouts of a Jedi strike team sent by the Republic. At first the commander simply laughed. But Tola knew his type—a young upstart trying to claw his way up the ranks. Eventually he would check the datapad he'd confiscated from Tola. False information had been entered into it ahead of time with a brief outline of the supposed Jedi strike force and their mission. However, the system they were infiltrating was purposefully left out. Now it was only a matter of time before he took the bait.

The soldiers left the cell block, only to return after a few hours.

"I heard we caught another Force user today," the first soldier murmured.

"We made sure they're being held far away from each other. This one isn't half as bad as Jadus, but still, it makes me nervous having them on board."

"Why can't we just kill them now and be done with it? They're slated for execution, anyway."

"You know the Overlord," the second soldier continued. "Wants to make an example out of them."

Tola strained his ears to overhear any further information, but they hushed their conversation as they approached his cell.

"The commander will see you now."

Tola pushed to his feet and waited as the two soldiers slapped a pair of binder cuffs on him. They prodded him out of the cell and as he passed by, Tola gave the bounty hunter a slight nod, hoping he understood the message.

The entire plan hinged on the soldiers marching him to the command post. Not because of the destination itself, but because of the route they would take. If this was anything like the last dreadnought Tola was on, they would go right past the room he needed.

Tola's heart skipped a beat when he saw the familiar path he held mapped in his head. A bead of sweat ran down his brow and adrenaline coursed through his veins. Carefully watching the two soldiers, Tola waited for his chance.

It came as soon as the soldier on his right started to ask his companion a question. As soon as the first word came out, Tola made his move. Taking a deep breath, he balled his fists together, one on top of the other. In a wide swing, he clubbed the nearest trooper. The enemy stumbled back and fell to the ground. He was down, but not out. Before the other warrior could react, Tola ducked into the room to his left. Punching the panel on the wall, he watched the door slam shut.

"Do you think that's going to save you?" one of the soldiers shouted, pounding on the door. "It's only a matter of time before we pry you out of there. Then I'll shoot you myself!"

Ignoring the man's ravings, Tola smiled and rubbed his hands together. The cell block control room stretched before him.

_Perfect . . ._

Tola rushed to the terminal, and pulled up surveillance. Just outside his room the two soldiers were tinkering with the door. Tola's bound hands flew over the keyboard as fast as they could, pulling up the self-defense system in the hall. He put the setting on stun and watched as the two soldiers were taken down by a security blaster protruding from the wall.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he began phase two of his plan.

Tola sliced into the camera feed on the rest of the ship. The bounty hunter knelt close to his cell door.

_Looks like he got the message. _

Tola continued leafing through the feeds until he found his second objective. A lone cell block centered in the middle of a white room. Inside was the massive scarlet-colored alien he saw in town.

Tola stretched his hands as far apart as the binder cuffs would allow, and pounded the keyboard.

As he hit the enter button, the entire cell block went black, all except his terminal screen and the surveillance cameras, which he switched over to infrared.

With a few more strokes of the keyboard, he overrode the locks on both the alien and the bounty hunter's cells. Sometimes the best answer to a desperate situation was simply to create chaos. A satisfied smile curled the edges of his mouth.

_I've unleashed the beasts. _


	8. Chapter 8

Terrik was ready the moment his cell door slid open. Four quick strides took him out of the cell block and into the adjacent hallway. The corridor was well-lit, its metallic gray walls gleaming beneath the series of running lights overhead. Written in large bold letters were the words: _Black Scourge_.

_Must be the name of the ship._

Unfortunately, Terrik didn't know the layout of Varrcaran vessels at all, but his first objective was to retrieve his armor. To him it was more than just protective gear; it was a part of who he was and the warrior culture he hailed from.

Suddenly klaxons began to blare, warning the rest of the vessel that hostiles were loose. Terrik clenched his teeth together, wishing desperately that he had a weapon. Moments later he heard the heavy tread of footsteps approaching. Glancing to either side, he searched for a room to duck into, but the corridor was long and bare.

There was nowhere for him to go.

_If I'm going down, I'm at least going down fighting,_ he thought grimly.

Just as the security guards rounded the corner, the lights winked and flickered out, most likely the result of the hooded figure's tampering. Surprised murmurs emanated from the troopers, and Terrik fell upon them like a cornered animal.

Unlike most soldiers, Terrik was used to fighting in the dark. In one clean motion he broke the closest guard's neck, took the assault rifle from his lifeless hands, and gunned down the other three troopers.

The entire encounter lasted less than four seconds. Looking over his fallen enemies, he found the one closest to his size and donned the man's light gray battle armor. It wasn't nearly as advanced as his Mandalorian design, but it should serve to let him pass unhindered . . . as long as no one recognized his face.

The lights powered back on, and Terrik nodded to the security camera in the upper corner of the room. A second later the door in front of him unlocked, allowing him clear passage to move about the vessel.

It had been some time since he'd been aboard a capital ship—he'd forgotten just how massive they really were. Most chambers rose upwards of twenty meters, and extended from end to end by thirty or forty. It was like being in a small utilitarian city.

Terrik shook his head. This was no time to gawk. Even if he could find his armor and weapons, he still had to find a way off the _Scourge_, and that wouldn't be easy, especially with the alarms ringing. Though he hated to admit it, he would probably need the computer slicer's help—if he could find him.

The following door slid open, revealing an empty mess hall, and Terrik suddenly realized it could take hours, possibly even days to search every chamber within the dreadnought. But no matter how long it took, he was going to get his armor back.

Even if he had to tear the entire ship apart to do it.


	9. Chapter 9

Imprisoned again. Dex couldn't believe his luck. After all the torture and empty promises from the Sith—now, apparently, it was the Regime's turn.

Dex's hand clenched into a fist, but while he was contained within a Universal Energy Cage, he couldn't draw upon the Force to free himself. There was nothing he could do.

And then, almost as if he had wished it into reality, the repulsor field deactivated and his cell door unlocked. Dex could hardly believe his eyes. For a second he simply sat there, stunned. Then a grim smile played on his lips and he rose to his full two-hundred and twenty centimeter height.

His lightwhip was gone but he didn't need it to get the job done. Fate had given him a second chance at vengeance, and he was going to make sure that all of Varrcara knew it. Walking out of his cell, he scraped his red-skinned hand across the opposite wall below the words: _Black Scourge_.

Dex summoned the power of the dark side, drawing upon his rage and fury until it swirled within him like a tempest, begging to be unleashed. Alarms bellowed through the ship, but Dex welcomed the sound; it would only draw his enemies toward him.

The door to his right slid open of its own volition—no one was waiting on the other side. Dex peered up at the security camera in the corner of the room and realized what was happening: someone was trying to guide his path.

Dex snorted. How stupid did they think he was? Turning the opposite way, the Massassi marched up to the door on the other side of the hall and placed his palm against the center of the frame. Pouring out his dark side energy, he agitated the molecules of the metal to the point of combustion. The door blew off its hinges and sailed outward from Dex's hand until it struck the far wall, detonating on impact.

Tremors pulsed through the _Scourge_ from his violent entrance but he paid them no heed. The ship would suffer more than that by the time he was done. Standing in a small hangar bay, Dextanik watched with a smile as the door to his right slid open. Three soldiers, drawn by the explosion, entered with their weapons raised.

Fury and adrenaline flooded Dex's veins. With a Force-powered leap, he bounded high into the air, channeling his genetically altered abilities as he did. Dark hallucinations plagued the mind of the middle soldier, clouding his vision with the notion that his friends were demons. The already panicking trooper screamed and fired at the man on his right, killing him instantly. Before he could turn to mow down the other one, the third soldier ended his life with a point-blank shot to the back.

All this took place in the span of four heartbeats. Just as the second soldier died, Dex landed next to the survivor and wrapped his enormous hand around the man's throat. All the trooper could manage was a gasp before Dex hurled him like a spear at one of the docked starfighters. The soldier smashed into the ship hard enough to warp the durasteel, putting him down for good.

The _Scourge's_ lights flickered, then shut down altogether. Dex wondered if he'd accidentally hit a fuse box, but the next second the emergency lighting activated and the PA system crackled to life. An automated voice said: "Warning! Life support systems have been deactivated. Four hours of breathable air remain."

Dex smiled and headed for the exit. The news didn't frighten him in the slightest. In four hours' time he would have the ship torn apart. Varrcara had no idea who they were messing with.

But they were about to find out.


	10. Chapter 10

A smile curled across Tola's lips as he watched the events unfolding through the infrared security cameras. Things were going better than he could have hoped: both the bounty hunter and the Massassi were making a move, and a path of bodies lay in their wake.

_Now I'd better work on finding the factory installation._

The console he was working from didn't have the files he needed, but it was hooked into a central computer network with the rest of the ship. Tola smiled; that was a lucky break indeed. Normally capital ships were designed for each console to be operated independently, hooked into various relays to remove functionality if something went wrong. The Varrcarans were either arrogant or foolish to believe that wouldn't be a problem.

_Amateurs._

Slicing into the network was a breeze. Tola scoured the files as quickly as he could, looking for any reference to the facility manufacturing the Force-immune armor on the planet below. His search field brought up exactly what he was hoping for, and Tola accessed the classified document.

He sighed as he read over the material. The information the Republic had given him, and even what he'd gathered on his own, had all been fake. Locations of dummy factories across the galaxy were all that this dreadnought contained. The real facility was still a secret, probably classified at the highest level.

_That explains why the Varrcarans didn't hesitate to fire on the planet below; there's nothing there._

His mission was a bust; the Republic wouldn't send a fleet without the target they were looking for—which meant Tola would have to find a way off the dreadnought himself.

One of the monitors displaying security feeds caught his attention. The alien was ignoring the path Tola had laid out for him. He was using some sort of power to destroy each door Tola sealed. At this rate, he would be nearing the cell block control room any minute. An enraged alien with dreadful powers was the last thing Tola wanted knocking on his door.

A prompt popped up on the terminal screen, warning Tola of a computer specialist on the command bridge who was trying to override him. He grinned as he watched the man work through the security feed.

_You're going to have to do better than that._

Unable to tear down the firewall, the specialist looked at the commander and Tola heard the words: "Someone's sliced the network—I can't regain control, sir."

The commander nodded and then spoke into his cuff link. "Jenkins, code brown. I repeat, code brown."

_What is code brown?_

Tola flipped through the camera feeds in rapid succession. But he was too late; just as he switched to the engine room, he saw an engineer disconnecting a series of wires.

The ship's engines cut out, leaving them trapped in Moaz's orbit. Tola leaned back in his chair, somewhat relieved. If this was their plan, it didn't really matter; he didn't want them to leave the system anyway . . .

A glance at the surveillance panel startled him. Someone's face was hovering within centimeters of one of the cameras. It was the captain on the command bridge. His unwavering steel gray eyes seemed to sear into Tola as if he were standing right in front of him.

"Whoever you are . . . we are ready to die for our cause. Are you?" he said firmly.

And then, as if the captain had planned it to punctuate his point, the ship's automated voice kicked in.

"Warning! Warning! Warning! Life support has been cut off! You have four hours of breathable air! Warning! Warning! Warning!"


	11. Chapter 11

Emergency klaxons blared through the ship, warning them they only had four hours of breathable air left. Terrik stopped in his tracks and set his armor's chrono to count down the time remaining. Varrcarans were nothing if not arrogant; most likely they had never even considered prisoners escaping aboard one of their capital ships. The threat was most likely a bluff, but it showed how desperate they'd become.

Terrik moved through the _Black Scourge_ with a sense of purpose, marching with the military obedience and diligence of a true soldier. With each chamber he entered he made a mental note of its purpose and direction, memorizing the layout as best as he could.

Two officers entered his field of vision, traveling the opposite direction. Terrik kept walking as though he was on a mission, neither looking at them or away from them.

"You! You're not supposed to be here!" one of the officers yelled.

Terrik's heart skipped a beat. Nervous sweat trickled down his shoulder blades, and it took all of his willpower not to raise his rifle and open fire.

"What do you mean?" he asked instead.

"No personnel is allowed beyond this point until the situation has been neutralized. One of the Sith is loose, and he's tearing up the place."

"What's he look like?" Terrik asked.

"About two meters tall, broad shouldered, pale skin."

"Wait—did you say pale skin?"

"Yeah. Why? Have you seen him?" The officer looked hopeful.

"No. I haven't."

_So, it's not Dex they're after. That means another Sith is on board, running loose. That explains some of their desperation._

"Assassin droids have been sent to detain him," the officer continued, oblivious to his thoughts. "Where were you headed?"

Terrik paused a moment, considering his options. Then he decided on a gamble. "I recognized the bounty hunter that was brought on board. Someone let him out of his cell. I was hoping to beat him to his armor and weapons so I could lay a trap."

The officer rubbed his chin. "Hmm. Normally I would reprimand such insubordination, but we're short-handed and we don't need another fugitive on the loose. Very well. Carry on, soldier."

"Yes, sir."


	12. Chapter 12

Dex smiled from his perch on the upper catwalk. Most Varrcarans knew the futility of attacking a Jedi or Sith with blaster bolts. As such, most were trained with melee weapons lined with cortosis specifically to resist lightsabers, and these soldiers were no exception. That suited Dex just fine; he preferred to engage his enemy up close and personal, anyway. Dampening the sound waves surrounding a lone soldier, Dex jumped down from the catwalk and landed silently behind him, snapping his neck with one wrench of his massive hands. He picked up the man's vibroblade just as the other three soldiers turned to face him. Dex had extensive training with a lightwhip, but he had often practiced with a lightsaber as well, giving him more than a fighting chance against the three soldiers bearing down on him. Never one for the defensive, Dex lunged forward, bringing his vibroblade hacking down in a powerful two-handed chop. Utilizing the techniques of Djem So, Dex used his size and muscular physique to his advantage, striking with savage blows. The first soldier made the mistake of trying to block, but his strength was no match for the Massassi's. Dex's vibroblade tore through the other man's weapon, and killed him instantly. Using the Force, Dex pivoted to the side faster than the other two could react, evading their clumsy blows. Dex swooped in and stuck with an ascending diagonal slash. The force of his strike batted the second soldier into the third, bowling them over into a crumpled heap. Before the final trooper could recover, Dex plunged his sword into them both, delivering the coup de grace. With the hostiles eliminated, Dex turned his attention back to his surroundings. Two rooms branched out from the barracks he was in. Picking the one on his right, Dex entered a small medical chamber. Images flashed through his mind of the experiments the Sith had put him through, both before and after the procedure that had forever altered his genetic code. Determined to forge him into a weapon of destruction, Dex had been forced to train under a Sith Lord named Darth Jadus to develop his genetically augmented Force abilities. A mountain of a man, Jadus was, by far, the most cruel and sadistic person he had ever met. One fateful day the Sith Lord had ordered Dex to strike down a mother in front of her son. When Dex refused to do so, Jadus had flown into a rage, mercilessly beating Dex to a pulp with his bare hands. Just before he'd imprisoned Dex, Jadus had whispered into his ear. "Don't die, alien. I still need time to cut out your pitiful hope and your mercy." For months Dex had endured unbearable torture. Fate had given him a second chance, however. Jezebel, one of the other lucid Bionics, had sprung him free, piloting him away from the Sith's influence only six months ago. In all Dex's life, she had been the only one who had ever shown him kindness. Dex clenched his teeth and drove out the memory. He was on a time crunch. Turning to the other door, Dex wasn't surprised to find it locked. Drawing upon the dark side, he blew the door off its hinges and stepped into one of the control rooms. A man in a hooded cloak stood at the computers, his hands raised into the air at Dex's approach. He was about a hundred-and-eighty centimeters tall, with a slim build, blond hair, and hazel eyes. Dex suppressed the instinct to attack—clearly this man wasn't with the Varrcarans. "I was the one who released you," the hooded figure claimed. "And with your help, I think I've found a way off this ship." 


End file.
